


Maglor's Symposium

by roseprice612



Series: Maglor in History [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, F/M, M/M, Maglor (Tolkien) Through History, Pederasty, Symposium Behavior, but like its ancient greece so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:43:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseprice612/pseuds/roseprice612
Summary: Maglor, for the second time, travels to Greece. He's welcomed a little too warmly for his taste.





	1. lodging in thessaly

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't seen a work on here that has Maglor in ancient Greece, sadly, so here i am. 
> 
> first chapter: Maglor sleeps in a stable, gets hit on by a teenager, and travels to Athens.

The second time Maglor travelled to Greece was the height of their civilization.

He'd previously been in Egypt, as it had been  _their_  peak, but he'd gotten fed up with the newly taken over Persian Empire and the corruption of society and decided to check out the Hellenic land he'd heard so much about. The trip there was nothing to go on about. If anyone were to have followed Maglor, all they'd see is a half-naked man with braided hair stumbling about on a nearly dead horse. Maglor always hated the desert.

So when he'd gotten to Greece after a month of travel, the first thing he did was find a stable and tuck himself in to sleep in his horse's rented stall. He must've slept for days, for when he woke, there was a curly-haired stable boy leaning over him and prodding him with a broom.

"...What...?" Maglor groaned, sitting up and rubbing his face. "What'd'you want?"

"Oh, thank the gods." The kid sighed and leaned back against the door. "I thought you were dead."

Although Maglor understood the situation and the stable-boy's relief, he didn't quite understand what he was saying. After all, he'd only heard Greek from the passing traders in Egypt, and had never learned it thoroughly. Maybe he could get by with his limited knowledge.

"Well?" The kid tapped him with the broom again and looked at his bare chest, covered in hay. "What are you doing in here?"

Fortunately, he spoke slowly. "I- uh." Maglor thought hard back to those damn traders. "I am- from Egypt. Came here by-" He forgot the word for 'horse', so he gestured to the feasting mare beside him. She grunted and shook her head in acknowledgment. "My name is Maglor."

"Hm." The boy turned and stepped out of the stall, turning again to face Maglor. "Come on, then. Out of the hay and shit."

Maglor rose to his feet and instantly felt a wave of nausea and dizziness. Ugh. He should've at least gotten some food and drink before immediately falling asleep. "You have food?"

The stable-boy laughed. He was amused by Maglor's state. "My father does. Can you walk? Do you need me to carry you, shall I get a cart?" But Maglor shook his head hastily, so the stable-boy walked faster and patted one of the heads of a horse while passing by. "Inside, my father will want to talk to you."

The inside of the house was a small, modest thing. That was expected for a stable in a small town. If this were the great Sparta or Athens, as he'd heard about, no doubt they would be living like kings. Nevertheless, it was a cozy little place; a cat rested upon the linen couch, an older woman sat by the fireplace and stirred a pot, and the wooden table to the immediate left was set with places meant for a meal. Suddenly Maglor felt as though he were intruding.

"Father," The stable-boy sat down across from the older man at the table, who was currently stitching something together. "I found him in the horse stalls. He says he's from Egypt."

"Egypt?" The father sat up and tilted his head back to look over Maglor. Discomfort settled into his bones, and he barely kept himself from fidgeting. He was only wearing a simple  _shendyt_  and his wig was surely off-center by now. His eyeliner was sure to have run, too, in all the heat, but at least he had more kohl in his bag.

"Take a seat." The father gestured to the wooden bench across from him at the table, and the stable-boy sat beside his father. Maglor hastily sat and self-consciously adjusted his hair. "Where did you come from?"

He had to keep up with the conversation best he could, even through the fog of recent sleep. He'd been sleeping a lot since the coming of the humans. "Uh. Egypt. Alexandria."

"Hm," The father said, the same reaction the boy had had. "My name is Archippos. This is Hermolaos, our son." A pause, and the stable-boy - Hermolaos - waved. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry," Maglor said the word aloud to remember it's meaning, then flushed red when he did. "Oh, hungry. No, I could not- trouble." And he stood to leave, because he  _was_  imposing, and it was rude, and these people could probably barely eat themselves. "I have to get to the city. I not stay, it is rude."

The older woman, the mother, was already coming over with the pot. Beef stew. Thick and creamy, mixed with buttermilk and broiled with beer. Maglor stomach growled raucously. The mother laughed and set down the stew on a cloth, while the father gestured to the bench and Hermolaos smiled. Maglor had no choice but to sit. It would be rude if he hadn't. The mother scooped large spoonfuls of stew into his bowl, so much until it spilled over the top. Maybe this family wasn't so bad off.

"How long have you been sleeping in the stables?" Archippos asked, mouth full of beef.

"I not know." Maglor admitted. "I came here with- with-"

"Your  _hippos_ , your horse," Hermolaos aided him.

"Thank you, yes, horse." Maglor took in a large spoonful and tried not to look like he'd totally burned his tongue. "I was very tired. I sleep long."

"Couldn't of been too long," Hermolaos said. "I clean the stalls every three days. You couldn't have been there longer than that."

"Yes," Maglor said, and fell silent, because he had nothing more to say.

For a bit, the family talked idly with each other. Maglor was glad to shut off his multiple-language brain for a while, and ate and finished the stew as though his life depended on it. When he was finished, he wiped his dripping lips on his bare wrist and allowed himself to lean back a bit and curl over himself. His whole back was sore from his few nights stay in a bed of hay and rock. He wished he could go right back to sleep in a comfier bed.

"-Maglor."

Maglor lifted his head and looked around the table. The mother had said something. "Sorry, sorry, I did not hear."

"Mother was saying," Hermolaos was smirking, "That we should give you a Greek name. We cannot place the origins of the one you gave us, but you'll fit in more with a Greek one."

Maglor didn't think he'd really caught all of what he said, but nodded. They wanted to give him a Greek name. "Yes, a Greek name. What is it?"

"I was thinking Methodius." The mother was smiling too, all of them were. "Since you are in such a pursuit of Greece."

"Methodius." Maglor mused. He did not know the roots of the name, which he always liked to study, but he had to admit that it sounded right. He liked it. Methodius the Wanderer, Methodius the Minstrel. Very Greek.

The mother was still staring at him, while Archippos and Hermolaos spoke in whispers. "I haven't introduced myself," She said, her own voice low. "I'm Tryphe." She nodded to him, a casual bowing of the head, so Maglor did the same. "If it is alright, I'd like to make you more at home in our kingdom."

Maglor nodded, not knowing why he wouldn't. After all, Tryphe had a kind face and her eyes reminded Maglor of his own mother's. "Yes. What is it you want- to do?"

"First," Her delicate hands rose. "I must remove this hairpiece of yours - it's crooked and unbound. May I?" And Maglor nodded, so she lifted it off him, and Maglor instinctively scratched his itchy scalp. He'd braided his hair down onto his head rather than cut it or shave it, since he'd always treasure his hair somewhat. "Oh! I thought you'd have no hair under this, may I unbraid you?"

Maglor nodded again, and Tryphe went at it; while the other men chatted about the horses and some message Hermolaos had to give, Maglor sat patiently while a stranger debraided and then brushed out his hair with a comb. Tryphe's comments  _were_  delightful, and Maglor actually found himself enjoying her work.

"Oh!" She sat back and let Maglor's natural hair fall over his sweaty shoulders. "Gorgeous, Methodius, just gorgeous. You have a Greek's hair, you know that? Now let's see..."

"Still not done, darling?" Archippos chuckled. He'd been watching them with one wary eye. "We're not building a man from clay here, it is simple. Methodius," The father turned to Maglor, his eyes kind but stony. "Here in Thessaly, we wear clothes. No offense, but..." He gestured to Maglor's  _shendyt_  and bare chest. " _That_  is not clothes."

Maglor flushed red again and looked down at his empty bowl. "It is how the Egyptians wear. The  _shendyt_  is all one needs, it is hot."

"Hermolaos, get one of your old chitons. Methodius is scrawny enough to fit in it." Archippos pushed his son to stand, who then ran from the room and into the next. Maglor realized he must've misinterpreted their home; it really was bigger than he'd thought.

"Got one." Hermolaos returned with a bundle of cloth in his hand, and even from afar Maglor could tell it was embroidered and too nice for him to take. "Here, put it on."

Maglor took it from him and stood to unfurl it completely, but held his breath as he looked it over. "I can not take this." He decided. It was decorated in stitchings of gods and goddesses and the stories of their escapades, and Maglor knew it must have been worth something. "It is too nice."

"Oh, put it on." Tryphe groaned. "Hermolaos isn't going to wear it, it doesn't fit him. Now wear it, you'll need it."

Maglor did not know how the chitons of Greece were worn, so Hermolaos taught him the correct way. Maglor felt strange in so much fabric after so long of wearing barely anything, and even stranger without his hairpiece and stranger yet as he stood in the home of strangers. But the chiton fit well.

"It looks dashing on him, doesn't it?" Tryphe mused. "He's a fine young man when he dresses the part."

"Thank you." Maglor nodded in acknowledgment. "I think. That is a- a-?"

"Yes, dear boy, it is a compliment." And Tryphe stood and gathered up the clay bowls. "I will wash these, but Methodius, feel free to walk about the town. Do not be a stranger to us."

With that, Tryphe left the home. The cat jumped down from the couch and followed her out, and Archippos stood to do his own work. Maglor was left alone with Hermolaos, whos dark eyes were focused solely on him. Maglor fidgeted now, too uncomfortable to not fidget.

"My mother is right," Hermolaos' smirk was more devious now. "You are fine young man without the look of a harrowed slave. You should smile, it would look good on you."

Maglor smiled for only a moment. He didn't like smiling often. It brought pain of the past, and he would do everything he could to forget that. Besides, he couldn't focus with Hermolaos' obvious flirting.

"Thank you for the compliment." Maglor deflected, turning to the door of the home. "I will be on my way now. I have to get to Athens. Tell your mother and father I thank them."

Hermolaos stood frozen for a second, but the moment Maglor began to push open the door, he was upon him. "Wait! Let me go with you."

Maglor paused. He didn't know if he really wanted this kid following him around, especially if he was going to flirt with him the whole time. Hermolaos knew it, too, and ducked his head sheepishly.

"I will not subject you more," He muttered, "But you are a foreigner. Allow me to show you to way to Athens. Besides, I have a message to deliver there as well."

Maglor sighed and opened the door, stepping out into the blinding sunlight. He took a few seconds to adjust his eyes before looking back at the stable-boy. "Yes, that is good. Now. I do not want to- to stay."

Hermolaos let out an amused laugh and turned back inside. "Prepare the horses, I will gather supplies."

Maglor did as he was told. The saddles of Greece were different than those of Egypt, and he had some trouble figuring out how to tack the horses before finally getting it and fixing up his own and the horse in the stall beside his. One thing he missed about his Arda: the ease and decor of the steeds, and the simplicity of tacking them. Nevertheless, it could be done, and Maglor led the two horses out into the sun. Hermolaos has gotten a bag, presumably of food and whatever message he needed to carry. Maglor laughed at the sudden realization in his mind Hermolaos, named for Hermes, messenger god.

"Father!" He shouted, catching Archippos by the cows. "We're going to Athens now! Is there anything you need?"

"Only for the message to pass on!" Archippos raised a hand in a gesture of salutations. "Ride well, son!"

"I always do! Come now, Methodius, let us ride."

Hermolaos was a master rider, and triumphed over Maglor's own abilities. While Maglor trailed behind, on the dirt path laid out for them, Hermolaos rode ahead, climbing steep hills and leaping across ravines, even standing upon his mare's back at one point. Maglor thought he was showing off. What else would it be? Maglor did not pay it any mind. He was a boy, striving for the attention of an older man. If that is what pleases him, who was Maglor to ruin his fun?

Besides, Maglor would be lying if he said he didn't linger on the way Hermolaos' grip on his reins made his muscles clench.

The trip was long, again, and Maglor found himself dreaming of goose-feather beds and furred blankets. His lion-skin bedroll was thin with use and did nothing to protect him from rocks and the discomfort of the earth. Sometimes he envied his companion and his thicker, sheep's wool bedroll, and even considered asking if he could lay with him, but he hadn't any idea of how to ask without asking to engage in... Well, Maglor could deal with his lion-skin.

They passed through Lamia, and Thermopylae after, then stopped at Delphi to pray at the temple and take part in one of their many festivals. Maglor enjoyed that part. They were off again a few days later, when Maglor's migraines had subsided, and passed then through Thebes and Eleusis and finally, after days and days of travel, arrived at the glorious and shining star-city of Athens.

"Ah!" Hermolaos threw his hands in the air, crying out to the heavens. "Thank the gods!"

Maglor pressed on without stopping. He'd - without telling or letting his travel companion know - snuck into a bandit camp not far from them a few nights ago and stolen a considerable amount of gold. He could smell the presence of a comfy bed where he may lay his sore back, and the gold jingled in his pockets in anticipation.


	2. arrival in athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor arrives in Athens, lodges with a friend of an aquaintence, and has an unpleasant dream.

"Methodius!" Hermolaos coming after him, tuning his horse so that it walked backward in front of him and he could face Maglor. "Are you not pleased?"

"I want to sleep," Maglor groaned. He knew there were bags under his eyes, and knew then that Hermolaos was only looking for a reaction because he knew Maglor looked tired, too. "It is a beautiful city. But I want a drink and a bed to sleep in."

The horse in front of him turned and galloped beside his. "With me, I hope?"

Maglor rolled his eyes. Despite his companion promising to cease the flirtations, nothing had changed. "Only if I am drunk enough."

Hermolaos laughed heartily, but Maglor knew it was only to please him. He also didn't think the boy knew it was a joke, because he continued: "I know of beers that can make you mindless with a few sips. Care to try one?"

Maglor glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "No, boy, now leave me be."

Maglor also supposed he'd gotten harsher in the many days of their travel. But that was only fair. Hermolaos was so diligent in his actions that it exhausted Maglor to watch and be targeted by him. He wondered how the kid didn't have a partner already. Or maybe he did, and he was struck by Cupid's bow when he saw Maglor. Either way, Maglor was annoyed.

Athens was a confusing city as it was beautiful. Fortunately, Hermolaos was able to lead him down the Main Street and into a few smaller ones, to what he claimed to be a place with beds. But when his horse finally stopped, they were in front of a large townhouse and not an inn.

"Boy," Maglor warned, his frustration rising rapidly. "If this is another one of your tricks, I swear-"

"Do not swear, Methodius!" Hermolaos leapt off his horse and tied it to a tree to their right. "It is a home of my friend's, he will give us food and board!"

That was all Maglor needed to hear. He dismounted his horse, took a minute to stretch his sore muscles and stiff bones, and headed in after Hermolaos. He had a written letter in his hands; the message from Archippos.

"Gennadios!" Hermolaos called, not pausing as he walked right into the house. "I'm here to steal all your things! That all right?"

A laugh echoed from above. Maglor would have thought it were the laugh of a god if he believed in any of the human's gods. Then a shadow formed on the wall, and a shiver swept down Maglor's spine. It was a person, obviously, but as it moved Maglor couldn't help but see other figures, too. A lion, crawling towards its prey, an ape throwing its head back, and finally, a man, arms spread wide as a welcome.

"You always catch me at terrible times, dear Hermolaos." The shadow morphed into a figure, and the figure appeared in the hallway they stood at the end of. "I was with the most gorgeous young boy, he could do this most interesting thing with his- Ah, a visitor."

There were few moments in Maglor's wanderings where he thought, truly, that he'd made a mistake of not sailing with the call of the Noldor. This was one of them.

"Gennadios," Hermolaos smirked wider when the man clapped a hand on his shoulder. Gennadios was a well-built man, muscular and heavy-set, and had a small beard just on his chin. He was an older man than Hermolaos, but not past thirty-five. "This is Methodius. He's from Egypt."

"Methodius," Gennadios drawled. "Beautiful name. Fitting. A pleasure, Methodius, I am Gennadios." And he took up Maglor's hand and kissed his knuckles.

"Uhh-" Maglor stepped back hastily and glanced towards the door. "On second thought, Hermolaos, I will be finding my own place to stay. Enjoy yourself." And he turned on his heel and made for the door.

"Oh, no, Egyptian!" Gennadios called after him, grabbing his wrist. "I have not meant to scare you away. Stay, I promise I won't come after you, I promise."

"He's very tired," Hermolaos muttered in his friend's ear. "He said he wants drink and a bed."

"I have many," Gennadios drawled. Maglor hoped he wasn't drunk. "Come in, then, Methodius. Would you like beer?"

Fortunately, Gennadios had a very normal store of beers and wines, and Maglor chose a jug of an orange beer from Thebes, chugged it as fast as he could to avoid talking to the other two men, and then grew sleepy. Beer always made him tired.

"And then- and then he broke my lamp!" Gennadios ended his story, a much too long one in Maglor's opinion, and Hermolaos let out a loud laugh. Maglor's eyes couldn't stay open any longer, and as Hermolaos went to start another story, his upper body gave out and he fell limp upon on the table.

"Methodius, the story really wasn't that bad-" Gennadios chuckled, nudging Maglor. He tried sitting up, but his body wouldn't let him. He was too tired. So he groaned instead.

"He's tired, Gennadios, I told you." Hermolaos shook Maglor's shoulder. A giggle rested on his lips, escaping little by little. "Methodius, you must get up. A table is no place to sleep."

"Can't move." Maglor slurred. Maybe the drink wasn't the best idea. Frankly, he wondered how he'd stayed awake as long as he had. His body was refusing to move, and his eyes were being pulled down by invisible weights. "Urgh. Move me."

He made another attempt at getting up, but only his hand could lift. Someone else's hand took his and yanked him upwards, causing a his lungs to release a flush of air, and gingerly he was lifted to rest in someone's arms. He wished this wasn't happening. He wished they'd left him to sleep on the wooden table. At least there he wouldn't be touched by some strange men. Maybe. He couldn't trust these people.

Nevertheless, he was carried through an unknown amount of distance until the arms carrying him stopped, pitched forward, and dropped him on a bed. Maglor didn't know if the person left, or if they said another word to him, because as soon as his head hit the furs of the bed he passed out.

His sleep was restless.

He’d been praying to Irmo that his sleep would be dreamless, so that he may get some actual rest, but once again, the curse he’d placed upon himself took precedent.

He was kneeling, crouched, behind the door of his old home. His harp was in his arms, the harp he’d had all his life, protecting it from whatever was on the other side of that door. There were footsteps outside, heavy footsteps and a lot of them, and as they came to a halt just outside the door Maglor squeezed his eyes shut.

“Open up!” A voice yelled, banging on the rickety wooden door. “Your taxes are due! You owe us three months rent!”

Maglor was trembling in fear, but he couldn’t move. The banging came again, and he yelled in terror. “ I don’t have it!” He cried. “I don’t have the money! Come back next month!”

“You said that last month!” The voice came again. The pounding grew louder, then stopped. Maglor took that chance to scramble to a stand, stumbling away from the door. A second later it caved in, smashed from the effort of the soldiers that streamed in. Maglor glanced at the window and held the harp close. The soldiers drew their swords.

“Pay up.” The soldier in front said. “Pay up of die.”

In a split decision, Maglor broke into a run and jumped out the window in one streamline movement, landing outside with a roll and standing again. The Persians would be coming after him in just a second. So he ran again. He ran as fast and as far as he could.


	3. makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically, Maglor gets super uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I’m not too clear (and I often am, it be like that sometimes), a chlamys is like a short cape draped over one shoulder, a chiton is a Greek toga, and a shendyt is an Egyptian skirt

Maglor, again, had no idea how much time had passed when he woke. Time all seemed relative since the destruction of Arda, and no longer did he keep track of days or years.

It was light out, but a confrontational light, an afternoon light. It streamed in through the window above Maglor's head, bringing with it the sounds of an afternoon; birds singing, assorted talking, the muffled _clop_ of horses passing. He shifted for a moment. The furs atop his body were stifling and he laid in a pool of sweat, so he kicked it off and laid bare in the light.

He still wore Hermolaos' chiton, thank Eru, but still he wondered if one of the men had tampered with him while he slept. Nothing was sore, nothing ached... it was probably fine. Maybe Hermolaos and Gennadios were sketchy, but they wouldn't- well.

"Methodius!" Someone was calling. Did Maglor know that voice? Yes, that was Hermolaos. The boy came running into the room, sandals on his feet and a wide-brimmed hat on his head. His cheeks were flushed red. "Methodius, finally, you're awake! You've been asleep for two days, you really were tired!"

Hermolaos didn't waste a second to tromp forward, lift Maglor up, and pull him out of bed. He tumbled forward, suddenly dizzy and off-balance, but Hermolaos steadied him and Maglor's sight evened out.

"Come on, Methodius!" Hermolaos patted Maglor's back roughly. "Apollo has blessed us today! You just must go out into the city!"

Maglor wanted to crawl right back into bed. Hermolaos was exhausting, and his energy was boundless. If only he could just be left alone, wander Athens alone...

"Ah, Hermolaos-" Maglor stood straight, pushing away from Hermolaos. "I'd like to part ways now. I came here on my own wishes, after all. I'd like to- to- what is the word? - experience, that's it, the city myself."

"Why didn't you just say?" Hermolaos smiled wide, showing a full row of teeth. His eyes scrunched up when he smiled, something Maglor couldn't ignore. If only the boy weren't pretty, then Maglor would have no problem ditching him. "I can show you around!"

Maglor paled. "No, no- Hermolaos-"

"I'm back!" A voice called. Through the hallway to their left, a familiar figure appeared, also in sandals and a wide-brimmed hat. "Methodius, you're awake!"

"He wants us to show him around the city," Hermolaos passed on with an evil smirk. Maglor bit his cheek hard to keep from completely losing it. These Greeks did not know when to stop! When could they leave him alone, let him wander as he was meant to?

"Actually," Maglor cut off, his voice pressed taut. "I was going to part ways. I learn of my environment better when alone."

Gennadios' face fell. "Methodius, must you go? I was coming now to invite you - the great Plato is visiting, and there will be a symposium at his villa tonight! It is an event you will not want to miss, I promise you. You must go, Methodius, please!"

Gennadios' begging was very irritating, but Maglor learned long ago that going with where life took him was the path of least resistance. So he nodded, decided to give up, and blanked his thoughts as to not dwell on the inconvenience. He should have never come to Greece.

"This is wonderful!" Gennadios gasped, immediately dragging Maglor away. His grip was tight on his wrist, probably excited. They passed by many windows on their way out of the home, and Maglor tried not to look at the way Gennadios' deep brown hair shone in the light.

"What is a symposium?" Maglor asked, painstakingly pronouncing the word. He'd heard it before, from those traders passing by in Alexandria, but he hadn't a clue what it was.

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting you're a foreigner." Gennadios glanced over his shoulder at Maglor and turned out of the hallway into the foyer of the house. "It's a sort of... discussion, between the high-class men. Sometimes it's on a certain subject, but sometimes its simply an excuse to drink."

Maglor hated it already.

When he'd lived in Himring with Maedhros, centuries ago, he'd have to attend the 'drinking parties' Maedhros held. He hadn't any idea why Maedhros liked hosting those things, but most commonly the men would just drink until they were mad. Maybe that's all it was. Maedhros _was_ a man who loved to drink. Maglor hoped the men of Athens weren't so vulgar as Maedhros' captains.

"There are a few things I must fix first," Gennadios was saying, taking Maglor's arm and leading him forward out of the house and into the street. "You are truly a mess, Methodius."

First, Gennadios lead Maglor to the tailor's - something Maglor didn't think existed in Greece, for some reason - to fit him for a dress that fit him well. After all too long of Maglor trying on various chitons and tunics, they decided on a red-brick colored tunic, short enough that it ended at Maglor's lower thigh. Gennadios said something about red being a good color on Maglor, and then draped him in a red embroidered _chlamys_ , a sort of short cape.

"I cannot afford this, Gennadios." Maglor mused, touching the stitchings of Greek design on the seam of the _chlamys_. "It is too beautiful for me to wear." And in truth, Maglor did not have enough money to buy something so expensive. He didn't like wearing expensive clothing, he never had. At least in Greece it was comfortable. "I should just wear my _shendyt_ , it is not so- so- _high-class_ as this."

"That linen skirt Hermolaos told me about? Of course you aren't wearing that, not to a Symposium of Plato. Would you like the men to mistake you for a slave?" Gennadios shook his head. "No, Methodius, I am buying this for you. You must look your best."

Maglor again got swept away by Gennadios, who passed over a handful of gold coins to the merchant and yanked Maglor from the store. "Gennadios, I cannot let you- this is too kind a thing, I must pay for this-"

"You said you haven't the money." Gennadios pointed out. Then his eyes darkened. "Unless you'd like to pay in other ways."

Another damn comment. He stopped short in the street, just narrowly missing getting hit by a horse in the process. Gennadios yanked him to the side before he could get hit, and placed a hand on his shoulder when he noticed the glowering.

"I am sorry, Methodius, I am. I promised I would stop it, and I have not. I am sorry." He seemed heartfelt, though Maglor doubted he could trust him. So he shook his head, gave a grimace of a smile, and began to walk again.

"What next?" He asked. Gennadios took a moment of respectful silence before answering.

"Your hair." Gennadios turned, taking Maglor's arm so he didn't keep walking, and stepped into another small, red clay home. "Hello? Kallisto?"

A woman rounded the corner from another room, scissors in hand. She was blond, a gorgeous blond, and wore an awfully short dress. She must've been more than five years older than Gennadios. "Dear Gennadios! Back already? Shall I shave your head, at this rate?"

"You're very funny, Kallisto." Gennadios rolled his eyes and gave her a kiss. Kallisto patted his shoulder and turned to look at Maglor. "This is Methodius, he is from Egypt. Can you do something about his hair?"

"Mm." Kallisto looked him up and down. "Red is a good color on him. Dressing up your slaves now, Gennadios?"

"No no, Kallisto." Gennadios flushed red with embarrassment and brought Maglor forward. "He is not my slave, you see, he has only just arrived in Athens- on his own free-will. He is coming with me tonight to the Symposium at Plato's villa."

"Ah! Well excuse me then, Methodius." She smiled and tilted her head to the side, offering her right hand. Maglor shook it. "How old are you? Twenty-one?"

Maglor'd gone over this ordeal many times before. He decided long ago to just go with whatever the other person decided. "Yes. Twenty-one."

Kallisto frowned at Gennadios. "Another erastes, Gennadios? Did you buy him that tunic too?"

Maglor, all at once realized what was going on: Here's Methodius, the dumb foreigner, striding into Hermolaos' horse farm. Seeing an advantage to be taken, Hermolaos brings the foolish foreigner to an older man who clearly has relations with him. Gennadios is a ring-leader of sorts. And Maglor is his next subject, his next whore.

"He will pay for it, Kallisto, don't worry." Gennadios' smirk confirmed it all. "Now, his hair -"

Kallisto's home became a whirlwind. She set down a stool for Maglor right there in the middle of the floor, set him down, grabbed a tall table, set down the scissors and ran to the back for presumably more supplies. Before Maglor knew it, she was back with a basin of water and various bottles of oils. She grabbed his head and began brushing out his long, kinked hair, not being gentle at all. Maglor grimaced.

"I know just what to do," She breathed, a thought that'd escaped her brain accidentally. "Now for- stay still, Methodius, _still_ \- and the oils..." Her fingers roughed through his hair, rubbing perfumated oils onto his scalp. It smelt of- apples? Yes, sweet apples.

"How long will you be?" Gennadios glanced outside, at the street. "We must be there before sundown, Kallisto.

"Oh- oh, yes." She seemed to realize something. Her hand stopped in his hair. "Out with this, then. Out with this. I just got so excited, this boy of yours would look wonderful with blond hair, don't you think?"

Maglor's head was yanked back, causing him to gasp and grimace, and before he knew it Kallisto was vigorously rubbing his scalp again, getting the oils she'd just put there out.

"I agree, dear." Gennadios sympathized. "We simply haven't got the time now, though, I'm afraid. We will be back."

Maglor was brought out of the water and Kallisto wrung his hair with a woolen towel. "Were you going to dye my hair?" Maglor asked. "But dark hair is- is dark hair not attractive in Greece?"

"Many of our great Heros have blond hair," Kallisto said, which seemed like a completely unrelated comment, but she went on. "It is very desirable, Egyptian. If I'd been born but a bit more wealthy, I likely would have married some prince."

"Yes, yes, we get it. You're Aphrodite's image." Gennadios rolled his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot around Kallisto. "We truly have been blessed by your beauty."

Kallisto wasn't listening. "What length shall we do? I always say a close crop, it's very much in style, but your Methodius does not have very curly hair. What do you think, Gennadios? Cut it short?"

Maglor cut her off; he was sick of them treating him like a child. "Keep it long. I do not like my hair short."

Gennadios seemed to not hear him. "Maybe a big cut would be good. His hair is very frayed from all those braids he had them in - he came to Hermolaos' farm with an Egyptian hairpiece, isn't that funny? Foreigners are so strange."

"Short, then." Kallisto took up her scissors, and Maglor tried to get away, but her other hand still gripped his hair. "Methodius, hold still."

"No!" He grabbed her hand in his hair and pulled her away. "I said to keep it long, neither of you is listening to me! I do not want my hair short, I want to keep it long."

Kallisto frowned and looked up at Gennadios. He shrugged nonchalantly, but there was an underlying frustration. Kallisto looked back down to Maglor. "An updo, then? We cannot have you going around looking like a common tramp or farmer."

Nervousness trickled into Maglor's veins. He lifted his hand to touch his pointed ears, then set them back on his lap. He didn't want to bring attention to them. "No. No updo."

Kallisto sighed dramatically and took up her scissors again. "I'm going to at least trim it. To make it look nice."

Maglor conceded there. A nod was all Kallisto needed for her to get right down to work.

Gennadios, after Maglor's hair-argument, stood off to the side, brooding. Maglor was old enough to know that look. He wanted control. More of it. He hated that Maglor'd made a scene, and wished he had more of a grasp over him. Eventually, Gennadios took a seat on one of the couches and laid back, simmering lowly in his anger. He was just barely holding it back.

Maglor knew what he had to do. How he could stay on his good side.

Maglor didn't have any idea what Kallisto was doing with his hair after she finished cutting the ends, but it took a long while. Long enough that the sun dipped down under the edges of the buildings in the distance, and Gennadios began to pace.

"Alright!" Kallisto shouted without warning. "I'm done!"

Maglor's hands shot to the back of his head. Without having a mirror, Maglor felt an arrangement of small braids, many of them, while the top of his hair was pulled back out of his face. A few wispy hairs fell in the front of his face, but he knew it looked good. In fact, Gennadios' green eyes were lit up with excitement.

"You look incredible." He breathed. "Beautiful." And a warm hand wrapped around his forearm and pulled Maglor to his feet. There was something discontented in his eyes, something that was judging him.

"What is it?" Maglor asked, self-conscious under his gaze.

"Must you wear the kohl?" Gennadios asked, looking at the eyeliner still around his eyes. "You will stick out more as a foreigner with it."

"Fine then." Maglor didn't know why these Greeks were so set on their "Greek look", but he may as well go with it. He'll learn more about their culture if he blends in. After all, that's all he's here to do. Blend in. Pass time for a few decades. A century, maybe.

Kallisto helped him run off the kohl with oil and water, then washed his face clean. Finally, Gennadios' expression eased and he was able to smile without the underlying annoyance.

"Gorgeous." He cupped a hand around Maglor's cheek. "You are a beauty, Methodius." And Gennadios turned to Kallisto, pulling out another few gold coins and handing it to her. "Impeccable work as always, dear. I will see you tomorrow night?"

"Yes." She took the money and deposited it in her pocket, then smiled at him and Maglor. "Good to work with you two. Have a good time at the Symposium."

"Thank you, we will!" Gennadios grasped Maglor's shoulder and led him out of the brick home, back into the streets. "We'll have to hurry," He said, under his breath. "We're close to being late."


	4. the symposium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor attends the Symposium with Gennadios, meets some people like him, and (barely) listens to the speeches of the men in attendance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not too happy with how this part came out, so i'll probably edit it later. 
> 
> Regardless, read on!

Maglor hadn't moved so quickly since those bandits caught him stealing from them in Egypt. Gennadios wouldn't let go of his arm, no matter how hard Maglor tried to make him, but maybe it was a good thing. He wove in and through crowds like a rocket, swinging around corners and staircases that if Maglor wasn't holding on to him he would have been lost long ago.

"Here," Gennadios stopped short. "Plato's Villa."

It was a stunning building. Made of pure marble, it towered over them like the arrogant sun. The doors, made of a rich wood surely imported from the east, were blown wide for the visitors to enter. At the door was a young girl, a slave by her unwashed dress and timid eyes.

"The men are up in the observatory, sir." The girl said, not looking either of them in the eye. Maglor frowned. He'd always hated this part of the Greek life the most, both in rumor and experience. As Gennadios walked inside, he caught the girl's eye and smiled, then winked and slipped a gold coin into her hand as he passed. He didn't say another word, and followed after Gennadios dutifully.

The inside of the home was modest, but still obviously beautiful. Small busts of Greek men and potted plants sat around on tables and shelves, and against the furthermost wall, beside the staircase, was a bookshelf of leather-bound books. Interesting. It was very rare for anyone to have more than one book, and here was a whole bookshelf of them. Maglor made for the stairs.

"I want to make one thing clear," Gennadios stopped him before he could climb the staircase, glancing back at the 'obviously trying to ignore them' slave girl. "You will not throw a fit like you did with Kallisto. I tolerated it then because she is a friend, but these people respect me as a scholar. Do not tarnish my image."

Maglor felt like he was being scolded by his father before a banquet. He knew the drill. "I won't tarnish your image, I won't argue, and I won't throw a fit."

That satisfied Gennadios. "Good. Let's go."

They ascended the stairs in silence, Gennadios having let go of Maglor's wrist and Maglor instead tromping up behind him. He was hating every second of this. It was too much like the royal banquets millennia ago in Tirion, having to dress nicely and having to walk in with all his six brothers, and staying straight-backed and respectable. Now, don't get him wrong - Maglor could be respectable and royal, but the actual effort of it was terrible.

"Here," Gennadios dragged him from his thoughts and stopped him in front of a pair of closed doors, the same fine wood as the front door. "Remember what I said. And-" He added, remembering something. "-Don't talk to the slaves and don't drink too much. We are upper class men tonight, act your part."

"I understand, Gennadios." Maglor tried very hard not to roll his eyes. Gennadios nodded, took the door handle, and pushed open the doors.

The room was wide, open-air, and full of men just like Gennadios: aged from thirty to fifty, mostly dark-haired, bearded, and wearing expensive tunics and chitons. There were younger men, too, mostly around twenty, and slaves by the walls, managing kegs of wine and beer. Maglor tried not to walk right back out of the room.

"Ah, Gennadios!" One of the older men shouted over the chatter. He was pretty average in every aspect, save the fact that he was ripped. "Finally! I was worried you wouldn't show."

"I wouldn't miss one of your Symposiums, not ever." Gennadios smiled back, grabbing Maglor again and shoving him forward. "This is Methodius, he's from Egypt. Methodius, this is Plato."

Maglor swallowed. Plato smirked knowingly, shook his hand, and stepped back again, gesturing to one of the slaves against the wall. The slave hurriedly filled two goblets with wine and brought them to Gennadios and Maglor. "Here we are," Plato raised his own goblet in greeting. "Cheers, men! Tonight we have incited Dionysus for his power, and we must pray he does so swiftly." The glasses clinked, and each of them downed their wine. Maglor cringed. "Come now, Gennadios, the men are waiting for you."

Plato didn't even glance at Maglor as he whisked away Gennadios, but he was grateful for it. He more he could blend in, the better. So as the two of them moved away, Maglor stepped into the small group of twenty-year-old men.

"You're Gennadios'?" One of the men asked, a gangly blond with dark eyes. "You're prettier than the last one."

Maglor didn't love the conversation. "Truthfully, I don't know how I got to be here. I just got here from Alexandria last night, and now I am here with great scholars and philosoph- philosophists? Is that a word?"

"Philosopher," Another one corrected. He was decorated with gold; a gold  _chlamys_ with nothing under it, hazel-gold eyes, and gold flakes spread in his brown hair. He must be with a very wealthy man. "And these boys are barely scholars, don't let them intimidate you."

"I haven't," Maglor defended.

A roar rose up in the older men, so Maglor had no choice but to look over with the other men.

"They're beginning their speeches. We should sit," The blond one whispered. Without another word, the five or six of them departed and took seats wherever they could. Maglor lounged all too close to Gennadios for his liking, but it was all there was.

If he was being honest, Maglor couldn't follow the speeches. These men were drunk, and drunk scholars made for wild ideas. Downing his own cups of wine, he noticed only when a man named Eryximachus took over Aristophanes' turn, because the latter couldn't stop his hiccups. At that point, he could barely give them attention. Aristophanes, after he recovered, made up an interesting story about mutant double-humans, cut up to prevent threatening the Gods and left to always search for their 'other half'. While it was wildly inaccurate, Maglor thought it was entertaining.

Socrates' speech, by far, was the longest, most drawn-out, and Maglor couldn't hold onto one word he said. To be fair, he  _had_  drunken maybe five servings of wine, and he didn't think Plato had watered it down much at all.

He did, however, pay attention when Alcibiades burst into the room, shouting and blackout-drunk.

"Gods, give me strength," Maglor heard Gennadios whisper, head bowed.

"Socrates!" Alcibiades raised his arms, spilling some wine on himself, and threw himself down next to Socrates, and on the other side, Agathon. "You always find the most handsome man to sit down next to!" And he scanned the room, his eyes cloudy with wine. "Why is everyone sober?"

Plato rolled his eyes. "We have agreed to speak coherently, Alcibiades."

"Well," Alcibiades drawled, "Do not put my drunken ramblings with your sober orations! If I may, I'd like to give my encomium to Socrates."

At that point, Alcibiades delved into a long dialogue about Socrates. Maglor thought it was a bit obsessive, but hey, he wasn't here to judge. Besides, Socrates seemed to be the most respected in the room. Maglor drank more and wished he could leave.

Fortunately, a large group of very drunken men arrived. Why is this fortunate? Because as soon as they invaded, many of the guests decided to leave and head home - including Gennadios.

"Let us go," He said, just having started flirting with him, anyhow, before the drunks walked in. "Back home. This place is not for us."

Maglor nodded in agreement, and carefully stood. His feet were as unsteady as he expected. He wished he'd stood more during the night, to get used to the balance of his drunk brain, but he was far past prevention. Mindlessly, he grasped for Gennadios' arm and held onto him for guidance. A smirk curled upon Gennadios' lips.

The mistake Maglor made happened within a second. As they were passing a different slave as before at the front door, Maglor once again winked and slipped him a gold coin. Except this time, in his drunken clumsiness, Maglor smiled and said, "Good-night." Gennadios' hand was on his wrist before he could take another step. 


	5. escape from athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor is punished, he tries to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *contains nsfw & noncon, read at your own risk*

Gennadios dragged him away with a painful grip. Maglor whined, not knowing what was happening, but Gennadios didn't stop. He walked all the way down the street, into a side street, and when he'd finally gotten to the small street his home was on, he threw Maglor against the wall of a building.

"You foreign scum," He hissed. The maliciousness of his tone was lessened by the wine in his voice. "You bastardly whore! I've had enough of your behavior!"

Maglor rubbed his shoulder that'd hit the hall and frowned. What behavior? "What have I done?" He slurred. Gennadios stepped forward and slapped him as hard as he could across the face. It wasn't as hard as Maedhros', but it didn't make Maglor's head jerk back and his body fall against the wall. Gennadios tore off his  _chlamys_  before he could recover, and let it fall to the stone-paved street.

"You're going to pay me back right now." Gennadios growled. Maglor paled. He may be very out of it, but he understood that. And he didn't like it one bit.

Gennadios yanked him inside roughly, one hand on his arm and one hand in his hair, and didn't stop again until they were back in the room Maglor'd slept in. He noticed his bag against the wall and began formulating a plan to get out of here. He'd need to be quick about it. He was in trouble again.

"You know what we do to boys who misbehave?" Gennadios threw him on the bed, and Maglor didn't have a minute to shake off the dizziness it caused him, because Gennadios was tearing off his tunic.

"Please," Maglor cried out involuntarily, when Gennadios had stripped him naked. "Please don't."

"Boys who misbehave," He continued. "Are punished. Do you know how I'm going to punish you?"

Maglor had a few guesses. "Don't-"

Coarse hands flipped him on his back, and a trick arm wrapped around his waist. Uh oh. He should've planned quicker. But his bag was  _right there_ , and his cape was in the street, he could grab it when he ran-

Something was pressing against his back. He didn't need to guess what it was, but it sure made him squirm against the strong arm holding him.

"Hold still and your payment will be easier," Gennadios growled, leaning over to bite his ear. At the same time, a finger dipped inside him, and Maglor cried out in pain. "Shh, shh." The voice whispered. Maglor didn't shush. He grew louder with each movement and tried to get away, he needed to get away, he  _had to leave, now_ -

The hand around his waist released him, only to go to his throat a second later. Fuck. Maglor wasn't quick enough, he couldn't be. The wine was slowing him down, and his brain simply couldn't think fast enough. He'd need to wait until Gennadios slowed down.

He didn't. A second finger curled into him, then a third, and Maglor was clawing at the bed trying to get away. "Relax," The voice said. "Relax and accept the punishment. You got on my nerves enough fucking times, and this is what you get. Accept it." And the hand crushed down on his throat, and the edges of Maglor's sight blackened.

The fingers pulled away. An opening. Maglor tossed his head back, knowing Gennadios was close enough, and struck him right in the nose.

"Urgh-" He grunted, pressing down harder on his neck. Maglor choked and everything flickered, but he was able to catch hold of the other arm and yank Gennadios away from his backside. The hand released his neck, and Maglor let out a throat-tearing cough.

"Oh, that does it." Gennadios' eyes were on fire. Maglor scrambled from the bed as he went after him. As those hands again gripped his hair and neck, Maglor reached for whatever was next to him - the lamp on the table beside the bed. He got hold of it tightly and smashed it over the head of Gennadios.

That gave him a bit longer, but still not much. Maglor grabbed his bag, dashed from the room, and made his way down the hall with everything still spinning. He only had one thought in his mind:  _out of here. Have to get out of here._

"GET BACK HERE!" Gennadios was screaming. He was losing his power, little by little. Maglor didn't look back as he passed over the threshold into the street. He leaned over to grab the  _chlamys,_ and his backside strained painfully. At that point, he glanced behind him - Gennadios was stumbling after him, dazed and blood dripping from his head, growling maliciously.

"Fuck you," Maglor yelled, and because he was leaving anyways, added, "May Eros curse you for as long as you live!" He broke into a run when Gennadios shouted back something incoherent. He turned the corner into the street, clipped the  _chlamys_  around him, and didn't stop running even though his sight was foggy and swirling.


	6. return to athens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his escape from Athens, Maglor wanders for years and eventually finds a home in a village outside the city. The elderly widow Demetria gives him a place to stay in exchange for his help on household chores, and his free time he takes care of the orphaned Scandinavian girl Asa. 
> 
> In a need to get more medicine for Asa, he departs for Athens. On his way, he spots an old face.

"Maglor!"

Maglor tumbled out of his bed and stood as quickly as he could. Instantly, his head pounded and his back throbbed from a bad night's sleep. He cringed. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Get down here! I need you!"

Maglor cleared his throat, brought his cloak around his shoulders, and trudged from his room, down the ladder, and into the main room of the home. "Ma'am?" Maglor called, moving about until he found the older woman outside in the front of the house, stirring a pot over a fire.

"Ah, Maglor." She saw him standing there and left the pot to bubble. "Making soup for Asa-  she's still ill. Will you get the ginger? It's too high up for me to reach."

Maglor nodded and walked back inside, a little annoyed she'd woken him just for that. He got the small jar anyway, realizing there wasn't very much left, and handed it to Demetria. She nodded her thanks and dumped all that was left in the stew. "Shall I bring it over later?" Maglor gestured to the pot and leaned against the outside wall of the house. "The soup."

Demetria nodded. "And to get more ginger, and Asa's medicine? She will need more."

"Of course." Maglor nodded, bowing his head a bit. He owed her still.

For a few hours, Maglor went about his usual chores: feeding the pigs and chickens, grooming the horses, and checking the garden for possibly ripe vegetables. None were ripe yet. That's expected, he'd checked too early. He'd lost a lot of his usual patience in the last few decades.

Finally, after Demetria had finished the stew and Maglor had finished his chores, he took up the large vase of soup to Asa. The girl lived atop the largest hill in the town, alone since her parents died, with only her two dogs as company. Maglor pitied her and visited often, even singing for her when she asked. She was where she'd been the past two weeks when Maglor arrived.

"Good day, Asa." Maglor greeted, pulling back the curtain that shielded her room from the outside. The lavender incense was still burning, at least, but the girl was covered up to her chin with thick furs and quilted blankets. Her dogs sat on either side of her, both at attention upon Maglor's arrival. He didn't think they liked him much. "Demetria made you soup - ginger and chicken. I even got some thyme from the market yesterday. You'll be better in no time."

Asa lifted her head, her pale blond hair sparkling with sweat. "Thanks, Maglor."

Her voice was raw and raspy, the way it'd been for two weeks, and as Maglor stepped closer, he noticed her eyes were glazed over. He swallowed to keep down the fear that that look gave him and set the vase down on the table beside the bed.

"Can you sit up?" He asked gently, his voice always lowered in her presence. She nodded but didn't move, so Maglor slid an arm under her and leaned her back against the wall, always making sure the blankets covered her. Her small hand grasped his as he went back to spoon the stew to her.

"Did you bring it?" She murmured, a child's voice hoping for a treat. Maglor smiled and nodded. "Will you play for me?"

"You must eat first," He compromised, and she nodded, so he began to feed her.

This had become routine for the two weeks Asa had been sick. Maglor got a pit in his stomach just thinking about the day it began, when he showed up at her house after getting her a glass elephant he thought she'd like down at the market. She was on the floor in the hallway, passed out cold and sweating. He dropped the elephant, and it broke in two, but he wasn't worried about that. He gathered her up in every extra piece of clothing he could find, some of his own too, and set her in her bed and boiled her some bone broth. She never told him how she'd gotten so suddenly sick. Diseases came and went like the ocean's tides in Greece, and Maglor didn't feel it was necessary, anyway. He just wished for her to get better. He'd made the mistake of becoming too fond of her, and didn't know how he would handle it if she died. She was like a daughter to him. He knew she felt the same way.

"Maglor?" She was calling him. He looked up and smiled, a smile he always needed to wear in her presence. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." He nodded. She'd finished the soup, good. That gave him hope. Now to see if she could hold it down.

"Will you play for me?" She asked. Maglor blanked out for a minute, the worry of his previous thought drowning him. "Maglor?" Her eyes glazed over again, and Maglor sat up hastily and smiled, turning and taking out the harp he always carried with him.

"What shall I play?" He asked, staring down at his harp to tune it.

Asa didn't need to think. "The one about your sons."

Maglor smiled, finished tuning, and began. Asa knew all about his life - along with Demetria, she was the only other person he'd told since Arda still existed. She loved his stories, and unlike Demetria, who was a grown older woman, she actually believed him when he discussed the existence of elves and dwarves. She cringed at the orcs, smiled at the Feanorians, and fell back in silence at the battles. She liked his "sons" the most. She said she wished she could meet them. Maglor agreed. Asa reminded him much of Arwen, or at least, the rumors he had to go off of.

When Maglor'd finished his song, Asa was fast asleep. He lowered her back into the bed, patted each of the dogs on the head, and tucked his harp away. He still had to get ginger and medicine for her, at the market. He hoped they had some. If they didn't, he'd travel to the nearest city for some.

He left in silence. No use waking her. After bringing the vase back to Demetria and telling her how Asa had eaten all of it, he left on his horse to go to the market. Ginger, medicine, mint, cucumbers, and onions. He could find that well enough.

He couldn't. They had the vegetables, ginger, and the mint too and some cardamom, but not the medicine. Magor rode home as fast as he could to deliver the goods to Demetria, but told her he was going to ride to Athens for medicine- they were sure to have some.

"It's past midday!" Demetria called after him. "Foolish boy, you'll have to stay overnight!"

"Alright!" Maglor waved as he rode off, not pausing or slowing for her shouting. If he could hurry, he could get there before nightfall.

Wolves followed him as he rode. He could hear their footsteps, the panting of their rancid breath. He never stopped, not for hours. Trees whipped past him and passersby called for him to slow down, but he never did. If there was even a chance more medicine could cure Asa, then he'd stop for nothing to get it.

The road up to Athens was, at last, too busy to weave past everyone. He  _did_  still ride faster than what was acceptable, and had to stop when it became too dark to do so. The sun had disappeared over the horizon of pillared temples and tall marble homes, so Maglor dismounted, bringing his horse behind him, and entered the market.

It was almost closed. He was just barely on time, and by the time he got to the stand where the trader sold medicines, he was packing up.

"Medicine, sir, please. The one with the honey." Maglor stopped in front of him. "Please. I have gold, I need medicine."

The man looked down at the wooden boxes of medicines and rolled his eyes, nodding. "How much do you need?"

"One big bottle. Give me the biggest one." He leaned over the thin wooden tabletop and into the boxes. "The biggest one you have."

The man placed the one large medicine vial on the table and stretched his hand out. "Pay up."

Maglor hastily took out his coin pocket and fished out all the gold coins he could - medicine didn't come cheap. It came way out from the East, after all. The vendor nodded his approval, pocketed the coins, and shooed Maglor away. He wanted to get home. Maglor stuffed the medicine into a small bag and tied it to his belt, turned, and led himself and his horse out of the marketplace.

It must have been midnight, by then. Maglor wandered aimlessly, meaning to look for an inn or anywhere he could buckle down for the night, but his body was tired and couldn't move right.

It could've been hours that he walked, but he had no thoughts about it. He couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. Not until a long-lost voice called him.

"Methodius? Methodius!"

He hadn't heard that name in- what? Two decades, possibly more? He whipped around, searching for the speaker.

At the corner of a suddenly very familiar street was an old man, hunched over and lost. His eyes were a faded green, his hair long turned grey and down to his collarbone, and bearing a small chin-beard. His clothes were expensive, though he was barefoot and out of breath, meaning he'd just run out of his home. Maglor then realized who it was.

"Gennadios." Maglor breathed. He didn't think he'd ever see him again.

"You're- no." Gennadios walked forward, and Maglor noticed he was using a cane. How old was he now? "Methodius would be forty-six now. You're his son?"

Maglor swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to get on his horse and ride as fast as he could right back to his village, and the feeling felt nostalgic, because it's the same way he'd felt around Gennadios twenty-five years ago.

But still, he didn't know how to respond.  _'No, I'm the same Methodius. Sorry, forgot to mention I'm an immortal elf that never ages!'_

What did come out was, "Yes. I'm Methodius' son."

Gennodios walked out further into the street, Maglor backed away towards his horse. "How is he?"

Did he really still care? After so many years? A human's lifespan  _was_  quite short, how should he spend so much time on one person? "Dead." Maglor sputtered out, then immediately wished he hadn't. Gennadios' wrinkled face dropped and he fell against the wall of the alleyway. His eyes glazed over. Maglor remembered Asa and wished this conversation would hurry up and finish.

"How did it happen?" Gennadios asked. "He was so young and strong..."

Maglor supposed he could go along with this old human's questions, because he would die soon anyway. Might as well make the passing go easier. "Uh- killed. He was killed. In- battle."

Why was that the first thing he thought to say? Gennadios collapsed at that, falling down to his knees and leaning back against the wall. "Killed?" He breathed, barely believing. Then he looked up to Maglor. "Will you- bring him a message? To his tomb?"

Maglor shrugged and nodded, just wanting this to be over.

"He cursed me," Gennadios began. "And not since his departure have I been in love, nor lain with anyone. Shortly after he left, Hermolaos... He died, fell off his horse, poor irony. And where... where so many came to me before, none did after that. They said I was bad luck. I was so... so angry at Methodius, for years. I thought he was the cause of it all, but... Now I know it was just me. Tell him... Tell him I'm sorry. For what I did."

Maglor involuntarily moved forward, then realized he was doing so and stepped back again. He didn't want to pity this man. He'd wronged him, harmed him. But to live much of his already short human life so solemnly really was sad.

"I have to go." Maglor grabbed his horse's reins and vaulted himself up after realizing how close he was to forgiving and helping Gennadios. "I'm sorry about- my father."

He rode as fast as he could away from him, knowing he couldn't stop or look over his shoulder. It was the Valar testing him, he knew it was. He'd already overstayed his welcome on Earth, they wanted him to return to his homeland. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

Nevertheless, Maglor looked over his shoulder. Gennadios was sobbing. 


	7. homeless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor gets back to the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoopsies no more summary for this one I could give away anything

Maglor rode all through the night to get back to the village.

The only sounds he heard was the squelching  _shlop_  as his horse cantered through the mud, the rain that began to fall barely a  _plink_  against his cloak. The medicine around his belt was safe from the rain, but again those wolves followed him and he prayed his horse didn't slow down enough for them to catch them. Sleep was creeping up on him too, but the image of Asa being well again spurred him on from the enemies that tracked him.

The village was still when he returned. Realizing then that he hadn't really thought it all through, because Asa couldn't eat the medicine raw - it had to be mixed in with food - Maglor set his horse in her stall and tromped inside Demetria's home.

"Maglor? You're back?" Demetria appeared to the side just as Maglor set the pot over the indoor fireplace. He grabbed the leftover chicken bones, along with any leftover vegetables to make a broth, and water, and stepped back to let it simmer. The medicine. He'd almost forgotten the damn medicine.

"Maglor!" Demetria was calling him, but he hadn't heard. He'd been too focused crouching and pouring the medicnie carefully into the pot of bubbling broth.

"Yes?" He asked, mindlessly pouring honeyed medicine.

"What in the gods names are you doing?" She stepped up closer to him.

"Making broth for Asa."

"Poseidon's beard, Maglor!" Demetria grabbed the vial from his hands and forced him to stand. "The girl will not die overnight! You said she was getting better just this afternoon! Aren't you supposed to have been sleeping over in Athens, anyhow? What happened?"

Maglor didn't want to think about what'd happened, but now he was. "I- uh... I saw someone I used to know. I had to come back." He almost said  _come back home_ , and knew then that he needed to distance himself even from his village. He was getting too comfortable.

"This person was so bad you had to ride through the night just to get back?" Demetria asked, and when she didn't get a response, she rolled her eyes at Maglor and peeked out the front door. "Your timing may be fine, actually. It's morning now, though early. When you're finished at Asa's, come right back and go to sleep. I'll have the stableboy do your chores today. Maglor," She grabbed his still dripping cloak and pulled him to look at her as he drifted away. "Understand? Asa will have no one to take care of her if you get sick, too. Do you understand?"

Maglor wondered how a human woman was so wise, but nodded his agreement. "You're right. And I understand."

Demetria let go of him and turned to go lay back down. "For a thousand-year-old immortal, you really are childish sometimes."

Maglor ignored her and got back to his broth.

It was finished not an hour later, and after triple checking it was well-done, he poured it into the same vase he'd used before. The rain hadn't stopped by the time he was back outside, so he ducked the vase under his cloak as he ran to his horse and rode her up that big hill. The passing olive trees brushed past him, and once or twice he thought he'd fall off the horse with exhaustion. His vision was flickering, probably his eyes involuntarily opening and closing, but he ignored it and kept riding.

He couldn't explain why he felt he had to get to Asa so early and so quickly. There was just a horrible feeling in his gut, and he knew at this point in his life to follow those gut feelings. He just wished he wasn't right, and that Asa was actually perfectly alright, asleep in her bed.

He left his horse in the front foyer of the large home for her to dry off somewhat, and she shook her mane thankfully. Maglor patted her neck and dashed inside.

"Asa?" He called, voice low near a whisper. There was a groan in the other room, and Maglor stomach dropped. She shouldn't be awake at this hour. "Asa?" He called again, moving on hastily to her room. He prayed to whatever gods that were left that Asa be okay, but upon turning into her room, he found no gods left.

She was on the floor of her room, on her stomach and outstretched. Her pale blond hair was spread out on the wooden floor, and one of her arms was outstretched, the glass elephant mended back together in her little palm.

Maglor didn't think he'd be able to speak, so he ran to her side and set down the vase of the broth next to them. Maybe she'd just heard him and fallen, and- and he was making this all up, it was all in his head-

"...Maglor?" She murmured, her outstretched hand twitching a little. "I wanted to mend the... elephant... for you..."

Maglor took the elephant, pocketed it, and brought Asa into his arms. She definitely wasn't alright. Her skin was paler than it ever was, her lips dry and cracked and her eyes glazed over. Breath struggled from her broken lungs, her body was limp, and she stared at Maglor so helplessly that he teared up and couldn't hold it back.

"Oh, Asa..." He breathed, choking out the words with quite a bit of effort. "Why would you...? You're supposed to be resting, you were- getting better..."

She stared at him for a moment, obviously growing weaker. "I wanted to..." She lolled her head, looking for something. At that moment, Maglor noticed the dogs running outside, through the window, probably looking for help. His heart cracked. "...The elephant..."

"Yes, yes, the elephant." Maglor turned back to Asa, digging out the mended glass statue. "Your elephant, you fixed him. Look at how happy he is."

She smiled slightly, the best she could do, reaching for a grabbing at the elephant. He handed it to her, but she pressed it back. "I want... you to..." Her hand fell back, not able to hold herself up. "Keep it..."

"But you- you-" Maglor struggled to answer, tears rolling down his cheeks. "He's yours. He'll go with you to Valhalla."

She smiled again, though fainter. "Valhalla...?"

"Yes, yes, you're a warrior, Asa." He insisted, growing manic with terror. "You fought the illness for so long, you've been so strong."

"But I lost..." She croaked. "I lost..."

"No, no! Asa!" Maglor held her tighter, reassuringly, and brushed silky hair from her face. "You did so well! You were so strong, you're such a strong little girl!"

This time, she didn't smile. Maglor let out a sob despite himself, already breaking down. "Don't..." Asa cooed. Maglor looked up and her and tried to memorize her face. "Keep the... elephant..." And she leaned her head against him, staring up into his eyes. "You took good... good care of me... like my... my papa..."

Maglor curled around her little body and trembled.

"Goodbye papa..."

Maglor wailed and shook with sobs, sitting back up to look at her. With a last, exhausted smile, she puffed out her last breath. Her eyes lost focus, staring off, and her body stilled. Maglor closed her eyes with a shaking hand and tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't seem to.

"Give her back!" He looked to the heavens, crying out helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Not with even the Valar's powers could he get her back, not a human. There was nothing to be done. And yet still he wailed. "It's not fair!" He screamed. "She was a girl! She didn't get to live!"

The dogs whined behind him. They'd returned. Maglor broke at that. He stood, taking Asa and the elephant with him, turned, and walked out of the house.

Rain still fell. The air was thick with humidity and sorrow. Lightning struck off to his right.

Maglor fell to his knees not ten meters from the house, splashing into mud. Over the valley he could see endless olive trees and small farms, all looking dead with the storm. With a final scream, Maglor fell over and curled around Asa's tiny body. Rain pelted his back. The dogs nudged his arms.

Time moved slow as sludge. He didn't know how much of it passed, or when the storm ended, but it seemed as though it never did. He still crouched there through the morning and into the day, not able to move from grief.

He buried her behind the house, at the very highest point of the hill. The dogs sat on each side of him and watched as he placed her in her resting place, then continued to sit even when he stood and took a few paces back.

Amras' grave looked something like this. On a hill, at the highest point. The rest of his brothers didn't get a grave.

"...Maglor?"

Maglor didn't look up. It was Demetria, he already knew.

"You said she wouldn't die overnight." Maglor rasped. His voice was broken. His head bent over his clasped hand. "She did."

Demetria stopped by his side. "I'm sorry."

Maglor squeezed his hand around the elephant. He'd keep it for as long as he lived. Which was, coincidentally, forever. "I'm going to leave," Maglor said. He didn't think he really heard himself. "For centuries. I don't know when I'll be able to come back."

Demetria seemed to already know. "Alright," She said. "I'm sorry. Be safe."

Maglor nodded, took one last look at the grave and the area around it, and turned to Demetria. "Thank you. For everything you did. I hope your gods give you the afterlife you deserve."

She smiled solemnly and nodded. "Good luck, Maglor."

Maglor turned on his heel and went away, mounted his horse, and started off to the north. Maybe somewhere up there he could feel less at home.


End file.
